


Christmas in the Sky Realm

by MaplePucks



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaplePucks/pseuds/MaplePucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Kirkland celebrates Christmas on the Zeppelin he's been aboard for the past several months. The Captain, and only other occupant, Matthew Williams, is deathly scared of docking Down Below and will only do so if he absolutely has too. They had just docked the day before, so why are they going down again. A passenger pick up? Who? ... Monsieur Bonnefoy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas in the Sky Realm

Over the past few months that Arthur had been aboard the zeppelin, he had become accustomed to the various bumps and noises that it made. And he knew what distinguished regular noises from docking noises. Mostly because the zeppelin rarely ever docked because that had to be done on the ground, in Londeamon and the captain was deathly scared of docking there, for good reason. Only on an absolute need to basis, to restock or pick up a package would it be done. Now Arthur knew they had just done this procedure yesterday, there was no reason to be docking again on such a quick turn around. 

But there was no mistaking the drop in pressure that roused him out of his sleep. They were going down, in a controlled decent. 

Arthur barely had time to think about getting up before there was a dull plop on the edge of his cot, making it bounce up and down. It was accompanied by a hard pat and shake of his upper thigh. 

“Come on, sleepy head. I need your help to dock this morning! Wake up!” A cheerful, clearly more awake then he was voice sang out. Arthur groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking at the young captain, who was smiling, adjusting those ridiculous oversized goggles on his face. 

“Matthew...why are we docking? Again. We just picked up supplies, far more then usual I might add, yesterday. We really should want for nothing right now.” He asked, giving Matthew a deadpanned look of non-amusement. Really, he was grateful to have been rescued by the young lad, but honestly, he needed his wings clipped. In the current political situation, one really couldn't be that cheerful all the time! 

Undaunted, however, Matthew patted Arthur's leg again. “This time were are picking up something special!” He beamed so widely, Arthur was sure his skin would give way under the pressure. Matthew looked like he was holding onto some big secret, the way he puffed out his chest and had to control his fluttered, excited breath. Before Arthur even got the chance to asked what “something special” could be, Matthew's dam broke. “That's right! Monsieur Bonnefoy is coming aboard!” He blurted out. 

Arthur was at a loss, his jaw hung wide open as he struggled to comprehend what Matthew had just relaid. “Monsieur Bonnefoy. THE Monsieur Bonnefoy, benefactor of the rebellion against the demon's is coming aboard YOUR zeppelin?” Arthur asked, confused and not altogether believing. There was no way someone that important would want to dock Matthew's zeppelin. Not with at least fifty or so others in the Sky Realm he could chose to call on. 

But Matthew seemed very sure, “Yes! Yes, that Monsieur Bonnefoy, now get up! You've gotta help me!” He smiled. In a flash, he had disappeared, into the pipes and steam exhausts Arthur slept under. He heard him clamoring from one to the other, more spirited the usual. 

Arthur still had his doubts, but swung his legs around to side, slipping his feet into his boots. Maybe he would humor the lad, after all, he had gotten the delusion from somewhere. Perhaps it wasn't really Bonnefoy, but one of his many advisers. That must be it. 

Grabbing his goggles, that Matthew wouldn't let him work with out, Arthur left his room with no walls to help in the docking process. 

An hour later, the zeppelin was docked and Arthur was in need of a wash. He was covered in oil and sweat, mostly due to the fact that the zeppelin was in all accounts falling to pieces. Matthew needed help docking because the steam pipes would fail or the gasket's would need reoiling while in the docking process. By the end, Matthew, albeit sweaty, was in more prime condition to meet a guest of high importance having only piloted the ship in. Arthur still had his doubts that Monsieur Bonnefoy was coming aboard but if they did happen to greet a member of his social circle, he at least wanted to be presentable. But Matthew wouldn't hear of it, saying there was no time for such things, that the guest was waiting to be welcomed aboard as soon as they docked. 

Rushing down to the gangway doors, Arthur did his best to wipe away smudge with his handkerchief, tuck in his filthy shirt and do something with his always unruly hair. He pushed the awkward goggles up into the blond locks when he realized nothing was going to save his appearance. Well, he was aboard a zeppelin, perhaps his unsightly appearance could be excused and he plus whoever was coming aboard could still have a fervent and fruitful, polite conversation. 

Lucky for Matthew that this zeppelin had once been a passenger airship with one modest promenade deck to host guests. Or else all hope of civility would be lost. 

Arthur stood at attention, for no other reason then that's what he thought he should be doing, as Matthew went over to lower the gangway doors, then came back over to Arthur's side. The Brit couldn't believe how bubbly and happy the boy was. He was generally a happy lad, beaming at all times, an eternal optimist but this was a giddy, boyish type of happy Arthur had never seen him display. Whoever was walking up the gangway at this very moment was indeed an important person. 

The sound of heeled boots on the metal gangway got closer and Matthew swelled. The feeling was infectious and Arthur was soon feeling butterflies of excitement in his own stomach. Who in the Realm was coming aboard? 

Moments later, a man did enter the small receiving area, and Arthur stared in wonder. He was blond, with wavy hair gently rolling down to his shoulders. His complexion was very pale, near porcelain in tone with only a touch of red on his exposed cheeks cause from the brutal chill of Winter. The clothes he wore were impeccable, a three piece suit of light, sky blue, with a magnificent tail coat. It was adorned simply, only a few slight copper embellishments and it came complete with a stunning top hat, made of the same blue material. But Arthur thought it was ruined by a pair of those same goggles Matthew always wore, placed around the base of the hat. 

The man walked on with a copper, beautifully designed cane that Arthur thought was more for show then actual function, and turned to his hosts. When he did, Arthur's jaw dropped. 

He'd know that person anywhere. His portrait had been all over the newpapers while Arthur had lived in Londeamon. 

It was Monsieur Bonnefoy. The benefactor himself. And he was indeed more beautiful then the papers let on. 

While Arthur was staring, rather rudely, Matthew lost himself entirely and shocked Arthur even further. He ran over to Bonnefoy, jumping into his arms and crying out with happiness. 

“Papa!” 

As Bonnefoy hugged back happily, Arthur staggered on his feet, trying to comprehend all that was going on. And it was certainly a lot to take in. A famous, very wealthy person on Matthew's run down Zeppelin and...”Papa”? 

“Wait, back up just a tick. Matthew, you can't be serious. This isn't your father, he...he just can't be. I demand to know what's going on, right this moment.” He finally said when he had found his voice of reason. Matthew looked confused as he pulled away from Bonnefoy, cocking his head to the side. 

“Of course this is my Papa, eh. Why else would I dock Down Below two days in a row. I don't do that for everyone, you know.” 

“Right, I DO know that, but this can't be...this must be some sort of ruse you are--” 

With that, Bonnefoy held up his hand to stop the conversation. But it wasn't a commanding gesture per say, more light-hearted and done with a friendly smile. “I promise you, zhis iz not some sort of ruse, as you say. I am Matthieu's father, Francis Bonnefoy, pleased to make your acquaintance, good sir.” He smiled, walking over and offering the same hand he had just held up to Arthur. Of course Arthur took it, he wasn't a savage with no manners, but he still looked confused. 

“Monsieur Bonnefoy, I--” 

“Francis, s'il vous plait! I insist on friends calling me Francis!” He smiled, ever smiling this man seemed to be. It was unorthodox to call a man by just his first name, seemed unnatural to Arthur but he was just trying to process things at this point in time. He would just have to bare with the social awkwardness for the moment. 

“Alright, pardon, Francis. Sir, I am not a person who has low mental facilities, on the contrary, I rather assume I am intelligent. Intelligent enough to know that--” 

“Your name is Arthur, oui? Arthur Kirkland, zhe young man my son rescued some months ago?” Francis asked, cutting Arthur off once again. It was rude but Arthur responded with a little nod and before he could even open his mouth to begin again, Francis took off his gloves. “Well, Arthur, mon ami! It is not considered polite to keep guests conversing in zhe foyer! Besides! Young Matthieu 'as been dying to show moi a surprise! And I must confess that I am dying to see it! Lead zhe way, mon petit!” 

Matthieu eagerly lead his Papa out of the room, giving Arthur a sidelong glance of apology at the interaction. It was accepted, of course, but Arthur was a little irritated as he followed them. Why hadn't he been told about the visit? And how in the world could Matthieu be Francis' son? 

Everyone knew that his two, twin, sons had died in the fire that had claimed his wife as well. The fire started by the demons to “purge” London, had it had been called before the take over. Arthur remembered the picture in the paper quite well, it had pained him so much to see the grieving Francis beside three coffins, two of which were so small. He had seen it in the library archives so many times, Arthur felt like Francis' tragedy had hit him on that day, despite only being a few years older then his twins at the time of the fire. 

And as far as he knew, Francis had never remarried, or had any more children. Of course, he didn't know for sure, but Francis was a fairly well know public figure. Surely the papers would have reported such news, even in the current state the empire found its self in. 

With a shake of his head, Arthur was brought out of such dark thoughts and back to the present. Where upon entering the sitting room, he was surprised yet again. 

It was fully decorated for Christmas. Lights, tinsel, candles and even a large, live, tree set in the middle of the room. There were even presents under the tree! Festively wrapped and lovely looking. Stockings were hung by a mock fireplace with great care and all that was missing was the jolly St. Nick Arthur had fond memories of as a child, puffing on a pipe and laughing merrily. 

Matthew stood by proudly, blushing and waiting for the response from the two. It seemed even Francis was surprised and in awe, looking from the tree to Matthew. Neither one of the older gentleman could speak, could voice the wonder of what they were seeing. The young lad cleared his throat to break the silence. 

“Uh...Merry Christmas, Papa! And Arthur! Do you like it? I thought, with everything going on we needed some cheer. Papa, I know you can't celebrate it Down Below but the Queen still observes it up here and I thought we...it would be nice if we could, be happy for the day.” He explained, fidgeting where he stood by the tree. There was half a second more of silence before Francis walked over, pulling Matthew into another hug. 

“You 'ave always been zhe most zhoughtful and kind boy. Of course, Merry Christmas, Matthieu! Zhis is splendid and marvelous. I'm assuming zhis was no easy feat to pull off, let alone it being a surprise!” He commented pulling away from him. Matthew was beaming and blushing, nodding to both of them though Arthur hadn't spoken a word. 

“It was! You can't believe how hard it was to track down decorations! But, I read it in an old magazine, it said something like, 'To bring about a general feeling of enjoyment, much depends on the surroundings… It is worth while to bestow some little trouble on the decoration of the rooms'. Or something like that. So, it was all worth the trouble it took!” He replied happily and then looked to Arthur. “Do you like it, Arthur?” 

The Briton blinked for a few moments before nodding, “Yes! Yes, Matthew I do! I've not celebrated Christmas in ages. Far far too long.” He stared at the tree fondly before sighing, “Thank you.” 

“Oh, I'm so glad you like it! You're welcome! But right now, come with me. We have to get to the kitchen as I think I may be burning things. Papa, you'll have to save the food, as you always do.” Matthew smiled before bounding off again. He was gone in an instant, clanging and rushing down the hall on the air ship. Arthur chuckled before heading off after him, Francis following. 

“Zhat energy of 'is is certainly boundless! I wish 'e could spare some for moi!” He exclaimed, walking along with his cane. Arthur still had a hard time believing that Matthew was truly Francis' son but he decided to humor him for the moment. No use ruining the good mood brought on by Christmas.

“Has he always had this amount of energy? He's hard to keep up with at times.” 

An unusual smile came upon Francis' face and Arthur couldn't tell if it was fondness or sadness. Perhaps even regret. “Non, he didn't display zhis sort of energy until after 'is brother under went 'is...change shall we say. Neither of zhem were quite zhe same after wards. Zhis energy is more akin to 'is brother zhen to 'im.” Francis explained. There was more to the story, Arthur felt intrigued, compelled even to ask more questions but he refrained. Something in Francis' voice suggested he wouldn't like what he would have heard and that Francis wouldn't speak of it even if he was asked. 

They entered the kitchen under mutual silence, looking to see if anything was on fire or not. It certainly didn't look like it but Arthur choked on the smell of light smoke, just enough to gag his senses. As did Francis, walking in and pulling out a handkerchief to place on his nose. 

“Mon petit! Mon Dieu! What are you ruining in 'ere?!” 

Matthew smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Christmas dinner? I thought that would be another good surprise if I made some food but...I still can't cook. Anything. Papa? Can you help?” He pleaded, looking dolefully sweet and innocent as he asked. Arthur wasn't a fool, that had been Matthew's plan from the start. And Francis melted right into it, sighing and sitting at the table to roll up his sleeves.

“Turn zhat pot zhere up just a little and vent zhe oven, it's far too 'ot at zhe moment. Bring me some vegatables to start cutting up, s'il vous plait.” He said, shaking his head but smiling. Matthew beamed himself and ran to do everything, hastily grabbing the vegetables from the small pantry and bringing them back over. 

He gently kissed Francis' temple as he handed them over, “Alright, I'll leave you to do it, I've got to get this ship in the air to get to our next destination! I'll be right back, Arthur,” he turned to him, “Keep an eye on Papa, make sure he doesn't hurt himself, ok?” He asked before he was off like a speeding train once more. 

Make sure he doesn't hurt himself? Really? Francis was a grown man, he could take care of himself, there was no need for Arthur to babysit him, honestly. Matthew could be so overprotective at times. Even with Arthur over these short few months, the young lad hated to see him do anything dangerous. That's probably the reason Matthew kept telling him he recovery was taking a long time. He just wanted to be very sure everyone was safe. Perhaps that was just because of the circumstances. 

But Arthur sighed going over to the table to help Francis out, “I still don't think you are his father but I will do as he asked. Is there anything I can assist you with at this time?” He asked, sitting down across from him. Francis chuckled. 

“I am his Papa, I assure you. Perhaps you can get another pot out? I need to get zhese vegetables cooking in some boiling water. You can boil water, oui?” He asked. Arthur took that as a rib at him being an Englishman and he bristled, puffing out his chest and storming over to the cabinets. He grabbed a pot and filled it with water. 

“Of course I can boil water, sir! How do you think I make my tea? I certainly don't rely on Matthew to make it!” He retorted, turning on the burner to allow the heat to rise. His face flushed as he turned back to Francis, finding him laughing at him. 

“Non, non. I would not rely on Matthieu to make my tea either.” Francis replied, working on cutting the vegetables neatly. Arthur was perplexed and turned back to the stove. He couldn't cook, well, he had more skills then Matthew did. Usually he made their meals, he didn't know what the boy did before he rescued him. So Arthur took up a spoon and began stirring a random pot. 

As he stirred, he lost track of time and was just absentmindedly stirring. Suddenly, there was a dull thunk beside him that shook the whole stove unit. Arthur looked over and was shocked to see Francis standing there, one hand firmly holding on to the stove and the other holding a bowl full of the chopped vegetables. He was smiling but Arthur noticed he looked pained and was breathing too heavily after his few steps from the table to the stove. It was odd. 

“Francis, are you--” 

“Mon Dieu, you are going to stir zhat gravy to death. Stop zhat! If you are looking for zomething to do, s'il vous plait, get another pot out. We need cook some potatoes.” He cut him off, dumping the vegetables into the pot. Arthur forgot his worry over the Frenchman and got irritated. 

“Who are you bossing me around! You maybe a famous leader but I don't have to take orders from you!” He hissed, getting the pot anyway. He was stubborn that much was true but he would always do what was asked of him, if it came from a respectable enough person. 

While they cooked together, Arthur's worry slowly began to creep back. Mainly urged by the fact the Francis didn't seem to be moving much. His hand gripped tight to the stove and when he did move, his hand always jumped ahead of his motion, like he was using it to keep balance. Also, he was leaning against the stove more then he should have been, as if trying to keep himself steady. Arthur worked on the pots and dishes he'd been assigned to watch over but always kept an eye on Francis. Could this be what Matthew had meant? Why did Francis seem so unsteady? He had walked perfectly fine before hand. Some sort of medical condition? 

They were just about finished, Francis was inspecting Arthur's pots giving them the seal of approval when the ship jolted, beginning a descent. It rocked the two men and Francis was the one to lose his balance, landing right into Arthur's arms. Luckily, the Englishman was quick and prevented a fall, righting Francis back onto his feet with a questioning look. But he didn't get a chance to ask any of them. Francis smiled at him. 

“Oh, merci! I am glad you did not lose your balance! Quite a jolt zhe ship just 'ad. Does it always do zhat when you begin going down?” He asked, still cheerfully smiling. Arthur raised an eyebrow. 

“No, not every time, most times but Francis--” 

“Arthur! I'm bringing the ship down and I could use some help! Are you and Francis done in the kitchen? Or at least can he spare you a moment?” Matthew's voice called from the hallway. Almost as soon as it sounded, Francis pushed off from the stove and tried to make it to the table. 

And Arthur could do no more then stare in disbelief. 

Francis' left leg hardly moved. It neither bent at the knee joint, nor did it lift off the ground. It was completely useless. He struggled, half hopping half limping as the left leg did support some weight, over to the table. Arthur saw that he was trying to get to the table as fast as he could and he couldn't figure out why until the man was half way there and Matthew appeared in the doorway. 

“What say you, Papa? Can I borrow Arthur for--” He stopped and his eyes grew wide. “Papa!” He yelled, rushing over, catching the older male around the middle. Francis seemed to collapse his weight onto Matthew, but the lad had braced for it, giving him full support. Arthur did come over to lend a hand, though he was more and more confused.   
The two helped a panting Francis ease into the chair and Matthew straightened up, clearly shaking, putting his hands on his hips. 

“Papa!” He admonished, looking very worried. “Why were you walking without your cane?” He asked, pointing to the walking aide right beside the table. The one Arthur thought was just for ornamentation with the Frenchman's outfit. Francis smiled sheepishly. 

“Oh, Matthieu! Zhat jolt when zhe ship began going down, you should really get zhat fixed. I can not 'ave you flying in a ship zhat is too dange--” 

“Walking without your cane is just as dangerous! You could have been hurt! And why isn't it bending? It should at least be doing that, let me see.” He shot back, motioning with his hands for Francis to hike his pants leg up. And it seemed to Arthur by his tone that Matthew wasn't giving Francis much of a choice in the matter. 

Sighing, Francis did as his son requested of him, rolling the pants leg on the left side up, and things started to become very clear for Arthur. Where a leg of flesh and blood should have been was instead an artificial leg made of gears and metal. Some of the gears ticked at an irregular clip, skipping beats making the whole leg shudder. To Arthur, it honestly looked very painful and this was confirmed when Matthew touched it ever so gently and Francis recoiled as if he had been given an electric shock. Francis frowned. 

“Zhe stabilizing cane you made for moi I zhink works too well, mon petit. I rely on it so 'eavily, I fear I 'ave damaged zhe leg you also built.” He said, watching Matthew look over the leg. The boy huffed. 

“No, don't be silly, Papa. Your sprockets just need adjusting and the gears need some fine tuning and a few replacements. Plus some oil. Arthur!” He shouted so suddenly, the Brit jumped two feet in the air. 

“Heavens, man! What is it!” 

“This time, watch Papa! Make sure he doesn't move. An inch.” He said, so seriously Arthur had a hard time believing it came from the normally mild mannered and happy boy. All he could do was nod in reply and Matthew nodded back. “Good, I'll go get what I need, be back, fix your leg and then we will bring down the ship.” He rattled off sternly before heading to the door, disappearing while grumbling all the way. 

Left in uncomfortable silence, Arthur sat across from the table, staring, rudely he had to admit but staring all the same at Francis' artificial leg. It was inconceivable. To think that a man of Francis' position and station in life would have an artificial leg like that. They were for the poor, or the Rebels who lost their limbs in battle. The Demons who took over London were actually quite fond of taking limbs. At first, before they took souls. Limbs were a warning payment. But certainly Francis had never run into the Demons himself, despite what he had been doing for the Rebels. 

“Zhe zhings one does for zheir children.” Francis said suddenly, wincing as he moved slightly. Arthur raised an eyebrow. 

“Pardon, sir?”

“Do you 'ave children, sir?” He asked simply, looking to the Englishman now. Arthur found the question odd. 

“No, I do not.” Arthur replied resolutely. Nor did he plan too. He had vowed quite sometime ago, nearly right after the Demons came that he would never bring another life into this world. It wasn't worth it, to put a child through this hell just for his own happiness and companionship. It was down right selfish. On that note, neither did he plan to fall in love. It only lead to heartbreak in this day and age. 

“Ah well, when you do, you will understand zhat zhere is nothing you would not do for zhe child.” Francis said, ignoring Arthur obvious tone. But he was too curious now to change the topic of conversation. 

“I'm not sure I understand, Francis. What are you talking about?” He asked, stealing another glance at the mechanical leg. It was far too intriguing not to look at when given the chance. 

“You are wondering 'ow I came to 'ave zhis leg, oui?” He asked and Arthur nodded. It wasn't polite and certainly not gentlemanly but he couldn't help it. Francis sighed, “A few years ago, oh about five or so, my sons, Alfred and Matthieu were captured, much like you were, by zhe Demon forces. I, of course, got wind of it within 'ours, zhrough my network, again much like I 'ad 'eard of your capture.” He explained. 

Arthur's head swirled with several new questions, things starting to fall into place. Mysteries and answers, more questions but some answers as to how anyone had known he was captured in the first place and why he'd been sent a rescue. Well, that was still unanswered but at least he knew who had ordered. But he nodded for Francis to continue his story. 

“Fearful for my sons, I personally rushed to their rescue, reputation be damned. But...I never got to zhem, zhe Demons intercepted moi, I became zhe captured one and I realized my sons 'ad been used as bait to lure me in. Whisperings of my involvement in zhe Underground 'ad reached Demon ears. And my sons were to pay zhe ultimate price, much like my wife 'ad if I didn't offer up zhe answers zhey were looking for.” Francis explained to a horror struck Arthur who was beginning to see where this story would take him. It was a terrifying truth to the world they lived in. 

“The demons...they took your leg, didn't they?” He asked, in a whisper, almost as if he was afraid the Demon's themselves were listening in on this conversation. 

Francis closed his eyes and nodded. Arthur couldn't hold back his gasp even though he had been prepared for the revelation. 

“I pleaded and begged for zhem to 'urt moi instead and let my sons go free. A-and zhey said zhey would but zhey needed...payment first. And a condition. Zhe condition was zhat my sons could no longer be together, zhe twins 'ad to be separated. Zhe payment, of course, was my flesh and blood leg. Zhe Demons are cruel...” Francis said, playing with the edge of the table cloth, looking scared and insecure for the first time. 

Arthur had so many things running through his mind. Firstly, there was no doubt that Matthew was his son at this point. No sane man would sacrifice so much for someone that wasn't of his own flesh and blood. Secondly, the amputation process the demon's employed. Arthur knew several of his comrades who had undergone the procedure. It was painful, brutal and nearly left the poor victim dead of blood loss every time. If the poor soul wasn't found in time where the Demon's ordained to dump the body, he would most certainly die. 

To think that someone like Francis, a person high in society had suffered the same, demeaning and horrid fate as so many of his friends, it filled Arthur with a little more admiration for the man. Along with a little less hope for the outlook for his lifetime and threw into question why he was even bothering to fight against it but he would wrestle with those feeling later. Right now, he placed a gentle hand on Francis' and gave it a squeeze. 

“Francis, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for doubting you were Matthew's father. And I'm also sorry for the suffering you have undergone, you and your boys. I know I can't do much, I'm just one lone fighter, but I promise you, when I go back Down Below, I will double my efforts. The Demons will indeed burn in Hell.” Arthur said, reciting a phrase the Rebels used as a way of rallying troops. Also as a way of identifying each other but there was no need with Francis. The Frenchman returned the hand squeeze and nodded. 

“I appreciate it, mon ami. I will not rest until the Demon's are gone from zhis world and order is restored. You give moi fait--” He stopped when he heard something in the hall way. Matthew returning. His eyes grew wide and he looked to Arthur. “S'il vous plait, Matthieu knows nozhing of zhis!” He said in an urgent whisper. “I-I need you to keep it our secret, 'e believes I lost my leg in a tragic carriage accident!” Francis was nearly begging. 

Arthur highly doubted that the smart lad who knew how the Demon's operated actually believed his father lost his leg in that manner, but he nodded all the same. “I will not breath a word.” he whispered just as Matthew entered the room again, holding a box full of supplies. 

The young boy came over and set the box easily down on the table and got to work, first taking a wrench to the broken gears, popping them off without so much as sending a jolt through Francis. It was intriguing to watch and Arthur was full absorbed when Matthew spoke. 

“I'm sorry I was so harsh with you and Papa earlier. I just don't care for seeing Papa struggle to walk. That's why I crafted this leg and cane for him. I-I only wish to help and make sure he is alright.” The boy confessed quietly. Arthur was struck with how endearing and adorable Matthew was and he smiled in return. 

“Think nothing of it, lad. I fully understand, your Papa is lucky to have you. Now go on, focus on that leg so we can dock the ship again--” A thought struck him, “Wait, why are we docking again? You never explained.” He asked. Between them, Francis and Matthew shared a knowing looking and the Captain smiled. 

“You'll see. It's something special again.” Was the only reply he received before going back to work on Francis' leg. Arthur sighed and nodded, used to vagueness from the rogue Sky Captain. 

So he contented himself with watching Matthew work on the leg to pass the time. The gears were off in no time and Matthew easily fitted the shiny new ones onto his mechanism. Next he moved on to the sprockets, which he took a wrench to. This time, Francis did jolt, closing his eyes tightly in pain. Arthur couldn't help it and reached out again, holding his hand in reassurance. Matthew urged him to stay focused on Arthur and try to get through it. Sound advice. Sprockets seemed the toughest to get through.   
Finally, all that was left was the oil and Francis smiled at Matthew, taking up the can himself. “Go, mon petit. I know that you anxious to get zhe ship down. Go. I will meet you in zhe receiving bay.” He said, nodding at him. Matthew smiled back sheepishly and then nodded. 

“Ok! Thank you, Papa! Arthur, come on!” He said, jumping up. He grabbed Arthur's hand and yanked, pulling him off the chair. He barely made it to his feet nearly hitting the ground. Of course, he wanted to grumble at the boy but didn't have the time. Matthew was dragging him out of the room. “Papa, please make sure you oil well and use your cane to get to the receiving bay. And please remember to bring the gift!” He called back. 

Mystery upon mystery, Arthur thought to himself. Perhaps one day, Matthew would learn to elaborate on what he said, rather then to leave it up to Arthur's imagination. But then again, what ever was between father and son, whatever they were talking about, it wasn't his place to know. If thy wanted to let him know about whatever it was, then they would tell him in due time. Perhaps when they picked up the new passenger, as Arthur assumed that was why they were docking again, he would find out. 

When the boys separated, Matthew smiled, “Be sure to met in the receiving bay as soon as we dock.” He stated and then ran ahead, jumping up into the pipes again, the only way to reach the bridge of the ship, through a series of acrobatics Arthur had never mastered but Matthew was supremely good at. The Brit watched him with a small smile before hurrying off to the steam pipe room, pulling his goggles onto his eyes. 

Because they had been at such a low altitude to begin with, it only took twenty minutes before the ship gave a shudder and the steam hissed one last time. Exhausted, sweaty once again, and oily from head to toe, Arthur panted and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. He stood there for a few moments, catching his breath and silently hoping that Francis was staying at least a few days with them and would not wish to disembark later that evening. Arthur sincerely didn't know if he could bring the ship down a third time. 

He rushed down to where he was suppose to met Matthew, finding both he and Francis standing there. Now he noticed how heavily Francis leaned on the cane for support, or perhaps that was just because he was aware of the artificial leg. Either way it didn't matter, he went to stand next to the man and noticed both he and Matthew had what appeared to be wax sealed letters in their hands. He raised an eyebrow, was that the gift Matthew had spoke of?

He could not hold his curiosity at bay any more, “Gentleman, who exactly are we about to meet?” He asked. Matthew went over to open the gangway. 

“No one.” They both replied in unison. 

A certain frustration rose Arthur's blood pressure and he wanted to vent it when the gangway lower to reveal no one standing there. But one look to Matthew's face wiped it all away. Tears, Matthew was crying now, quietly as Francis rubbed his back. Arthur decided to remain silent and see what unfolded. 

Stepping out into the twilight, Matthew stopped on the small dock and stooped down, picking something up and placing his letter in the same spot. Francis copied the notion, placing his letter down with Matthew's and then they both stood there for a few moments. Arthur stood respectfully back, sensing it was a sensitive moment, and watched. Matthew's shoulders shook with sobs and Francis did his best to console the boy as he leaned in close.   
The tender exchange lasted only a few minutes before the two stepped back inside. Arthur saw that Francis had tear stains on his cheeks as well, and Matthew went to close the gangway door, wiping his face with his sleeve. 

“I-I suppose your curious, Arthur.” He said, smiling sadly. Arthur couldn't help but be concerned but nodded all the same. 

“To say the least.” He replied and Matthew laughed lightly, holding up an open letter. Only it wasn't exactly a letter, but a brightly embellished Christmas card. 

“I have a twin who I'm not allowed to see or be near.” He started, looking to Francis. “Papa is allowed two visits a year from him. This is all the work of the Demons.” He said, Arthur nodded, wondering what about the twins was so important that the Demons felt they needed to separate them but he urged him to go on. “Every year on Christmas, we—Alfie and I—leave Christmas cards for each other. Here, you can read this years, I think you'll find it interesting as you are mentioned.” Matthew said, walking over to give it to him. 

Arthur held it in his hand tentatively, “No, no I couldn't possibly. This is a private correspondence, even if I am mentioned, it is between you and your brother.” He said, trying to hand it back. Matthew shook his head. 

“I insist. Please, read it.” 

Arthur sighed and opened up the card, against his better gentlemanly instincts. His curiosity was just too strong to ignore. 

Dearest Matthew and Papa,

How is your Christmas thus far? Mattie hasn't burned his zepp down with his cooking yet has he? Thank God, you're there, Papa. Make sure he eats his fair share, I'm sure he is still skinny as a rail. 

As always, I wish I could be there with you. I miss you, Mattie, most of all. One day, if we keep fighting, one day I promise, I'll give you the tightest hug possible when we are reunited. Keep strong, Brother. Just do that for me and I promise I'll do the same down here. I think it's going to be soon. We'll have those Demon's burning in Hell. 

Have a very happy Christmas, the both of you. Papa, I will see you in just a few weeks. You better have gotten Matthew to look at that leg or I will be cross with you. You need to take better care of yourself, at least for us. 

Love you always,   
Alfred. 

P.S-- By the by, how is that bloke my team and I helped you rescue? His name is Arthur, correct? Well, if he is still there, tell him his Hero says hello! I hope he is doing well and I also send him a very Happy Christmas as well! 

Arthur re-read over the card several times before passing it back, “Your brother, he wouldn't happen to be Alfred Jones, would he?” He asked. Matthew's face lite up.   
“You-you know my brother?!” He exclaimed, getting giddy and bouncing on his feet. 

“Well, more precisely, I know OF him. He's Down There, making quite the name for himself. All of the Rebel groups know of him and speak highly of his skills as a fighter. Honestly, he's somewhat of a model example of what we all strive to be.” Arthur replied, looking to Francis who was smiling very proudly. But suddenly, Matthew was by his side, hooking his arm around his. 

“I can't believe you know my brother! We have a lot to talk about! Come on, let's go eat some dinner and you can tell me more! I want to hear all about my brother and his role in the Rebel's!” Matthew said very happily. 

This time, Arthur chuckled and patted Matthew's arms, just glad to see the tears had faded. Matthew was one of those people who should never be sad. It was unnatural, despite what he had thought of the boy just that morning. “Of course, lad. I will tell you all I know of him.” 

Matthew gave a small yell of joy, “Thank you! This is going to be the best Christmas yet!” 

Arthur nodded, certainly the first he had spent with others in a long while. Smiling he, “I certainly feel the same way. Happy Christmas.”


End file.
